Classified

A lazy Saturday necessitates a busy Sunday! I managed to get a few things done today, including the much-anticipated haircut! What do you think? It's been straightened, which is why it looks a little bit like a wig (or is that just me?), although I thought that this added a frisson of Russian spy to my look today.

Excuse the slouch and the shocking amount of bronzed Italian leg on display in the picture behind me. Scandalous!

 Having been fondly waved off by my hairdresser (I like to think we forged a connection), I perused the Woking sales for a while, and managed to find a Christmas present for the boyf (well, I wasn't going to see him until after Christmas, anyway), although I can't tell you what it is for obvious reasons. (It's a radioactive teapot.)

As you will probably have guessed, my photography skills are in no way up to taking the above picture, as I don't have a tripod and can't teleport. I must have had an assignation, therefore, probably with a shadowy fellow agent. Possibly even an amusing national stereotype who's particularly good with gadgets and technology...

Whizzkid unmasked! (With a nice cup of tea)

That's right, it was him all along!

Whizzkid and I had quite a nice afternoon. We met in Waterloo (well, I snuck up on him and gently garrotted him with his scarf) and wombled down Tottenham Court Road way, to see an arcade he's been recommended and hang out in Cafe Nero for far too long (I think the staff were beginning to get suspicious). We also discovered a sushi and karaoke restaurant, just around the corner for London's answer to Akihabara, the Tokyo shopping district (before, Whizzkid would hasten to add, it got otaku'd). I began to worry that the Cafe Nero staff had poisoned us and I'd somehow ended up following Whizzkid to his own personal heaven.

It was definitely his sort of street. All the gadget shops and so forth were having sales, and in every one we wandered into, Whizzkid had only to pause briefly before one of the (predominantly Asian - I think a lot of those shops were family-run) staff appeared at his elbow and offered to help. I was generally ignored, or glared at for playing with thinkpads.

When Whizzkid tired of heaven (mostly, I suspect, due to lacking the readies for £180 headphones, much as he would have liked to buy them), we wandered towards Bond Street. It was as could be expected (you weren't there, man, you weren't there), and we had dashed in and out of a few shops (Whizzkid is still somewhat bemused by the 'This is the man', 'This is the woman' adverts for French Connection. So was Mary Portas, in an article of hers I read a while ago. Am I the only person who finds these funny?) including Uniqlo, where my arm was twisted into buying a (heavily reduced) grey skirt, when Whizzkid had the genius idea of exploring the sidestreets around Bond Street, instead of the tedius monstrosity itself. We saw lots of little shops (sadly mostly closed, but I'll remember), could walk without being attacked by wheelie suitcases and families of 14, and discovered the best Christmas lights in London:

I hope I wasn't alone in half-expecting little grey men to emerge

Mission accomplished (I'm afraid I can't divulge the details), we parted ways, having arranged to rendezvous again in the morning. Tomorrow, we will be infiltrating the estate of a rather cunning military man, known to be in the possession of Margarita pizzas. He may well be expecting us.

Agent K, signing out.



P.S.: Apologies to Whizzkid for calling him a stereotype.

P.P.S.: Incidentally, did you notice possibly the first ever appearance of my famous grey cardigan? Seeing how I live in it, I'm surprised it hasn't snuck in before.